spare parts

spent almost the entire afternoon in search of the (small and (as usual) vital)) mechanism that will, one (namely, me) can stupidly persist in hoping, succeed in keeping the door of the washing machine closed through the entire 5-hour cycle where threats and entreaties have failed, miserably. had the name of a street in Zemun with no address, so milked my little beautiful-in-the-genitive phrase for all it was worth—"Da li znate gde se nalazi prodavnica veš mašina [Do you, my second-person plural interlocutor with but one shadow, know where the store of the washing machine is]? turned out that this was no "prodavnica" at all, but some lady's house. after being reamed out (seriously, this is an unexaggerated daily phenomenon here) for having only a partial model number, i called one of my flatmates, obtained the rest, and, thus, gained entry to a little warehouse type place further down the alley from the house. there, the woman rustled around in plastic bins until she found what seemed to be a suitable variety, which i pocketed—but not before being yelled at, again, as i asked for a receipt.

language class tonight (ah, the 6-9pm brutality of a time slot), instead of in the afternoon. took the highway and, in the rain, saw an accident every 500 meters. glass sprayed everywhere, cars leaking vile substances, alternately angry and subdued drivers—but no ambulances or, it seemed, wounded. as i have gathered over the past few months, the sight confirmed: that the main activity of police here is (instead of other things, all of which fall into the "real crime" category) attending to automobiles that are strung together by rubber bands and high speeds, spit and vainglory.